


Paint My Spirit Gold

by LourdesDeath



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Birthday Fluff, Bucky goes to a party that isn't a Hydra Trash Party, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Convoluted logic was used in order to give this a happy ending, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7391596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LourdesDeath/pseuds/LourdesDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam sighs. “I hadn’t even thought of it. You don’t know what day it is today, do you?”</p>
<p>There’s a little calendar on the wall of the lab and Bucky can see the date under the picture of a woman dancing.</p>
<p>July 4th.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paint My Spirit Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Johnlock-Deductress (KeitanKetsueki)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeitanKetsueki/gifts).



> Just some fluff for Steve's birthday, because I decided that was nicer than posting trash. 
> 
> This is un-betaed and probably doesn't make that much sense, which is my own fault. 
> 
> The title comes from 'I Will Wait' by Mumford and Sons.

He feels his body burn with cold and hot at the same time.

Dragging in a ragged breath, he feels ice crystals form in his lungs and his whole body shakes as he instinctively tries to cough them up. His muscles tense as they attempt to support his weight, but he knows they’ll fail.

They always do.

His legs give out and he expects to be beaten for his disobedience, but someone catches him under his arms.

“I’ve got you, pal. It’s okay,” he hears.

The body against his is warm and the hands rub his back gently.

His eyelids are still frozen shut and his teeth chatter with the cold. He can’t stop himself from pressing his face into a broad shoulder.

“Can he hear us?”

They’re requesting a status report. His lungs are only just thawed enough to breathe, so he nods.

“Yeah,” says the man holding him up. “Is it warm enough?”

“Thirty-six degrees.”

“That should be fine.”

“Okay.” The words seem to turn towards him again. “We’re gonna get you warm, okay, Buck?”

Shivering, he feels something pass behind his knees and he’s lifted, his right arm draped over a shoulder while his head lolls forward. He doesn’t feel anything from his left arm—not even the weight of the prosthetic as it hangs from his shoulder—it must’ve been removed for maintenance.

He’s carried a short distance: the man’s height and the number of steps suggests it’s less than fifteen feet.

Heat radiates against his back and he sighs as the parts of him that aren’t being touched by the man are warmed. Inhaling, he smells… lavender?

“I’m going to put you in the water. I promise you’ll be okay.”

His feet hit the water first and he gasps with how hot it is against his frigid skin. Toes curling, he squirms as he’s lowered into the bath. Every inch of skin burns with the heat for a second before his body adjusts to it. Once it does, he stretches his limbs, wanting every part of him to absorb the warmth.

“That’s right. Just relax.” A hand curls under the base of his skull to support him as he leans back into the water.

Another hand presses on his shoulder, guiding him to let his torso slide into the water. Soon, only his nose and mouth are not submerged.

The ice keeping his eyes sealed shut melts away and he breathes in lavender-scented steam to thaw his lungs.

He could sleep like this, with warmth caressing on every side while strong hands support him, but they never wake him up unless there’s a mission, and they’ve never liked to wait for him.

Sitting up, he opens his eyes.

“Oh.”

He…He’d forgotten.

They were surprisingly gentle because it wasn’t _them_ —it wasn’t _Hydra_.

Steve’s smile falters. “Do you… know who I am?” he asks.

“A punk,” Bucky replies with a smirk.

“Jerk.”

It’s hard to pull his gaze away from that golden hair, that wide smile, those sky blue eyes, but he’d heard other voices in the room, and Bucky doesn’t know if he could ever get enough of them.

He turns his head, already knowing who he’ll find.

“Hey, man,” Sam says. “How you doing?”

“I’m fine.”

T’Challa holds a towel out for him.

“Thank you, your Highness.” He reaches for the towel, but it’s snatched up before his stiff arm can grab it.

Steve dumps the towel on his head and rubs it over his hair.

“Steve!” Bucky squawks. “I can dry my own damn hair!”

“You’ve only got one arm,” Steve replies, matter-of-fact.

“I’m a highly trained operative. I don’t need—” The towel scrubs at his face and he gets a mouthful of cotton.

Eventually, Steve decides his head is dry enough and starts drying his arm.

“You little shit,” Bucky growls as his hand is pulled from the water to get the same firm but gentle attention his face got.

“Think you can stand up?”

Steve’s tone makes Bucky really _look_ at him. He’s smiling, but his eyes are pinched at the corners. Bucky knows that expression—has seen it more times than he could count.

That’s the face Steve makes when he’s trying not to cry.

Bucky looks down at the water. At the very least, he should be dry when he finds out whatever put that look on Steve’s face.

“Yeah.” He flexes the muscles in his legs. “But I’ll need help getting up.”

Steve holds out his arms so Bucky can brace himself and step out of the tub.

“We’ve got some more towels for you here,” Steve says as Bucky drips onto the floor. “And a change of clothes. If you need help—”

Bucky turns his head and nose almost brushes against Steve’s. “You offerin’ to help me undress, Rogers?”

Steve blushes. “I—uh…”

“I’ll be fine,” Bucky interrupts with a smirk, taking pity on the blond.

“Okay.” Steve pulls away slowly, clearly reluctant to stop touching Bucky. “I’ll just…”

He reaches behind Bucky and pulls a curtain around the tub.

It’s jarring, to be given something like privacy. He hadn’t even thought of it, and had been fully expecting to have to stand naked in front of the others because—

—Because that’s how it always was.

Bucky strips, quick and efficient and still smelling faintly of lavender. The towels are soft against his skin.

The stack of clothes has a few options and, in spite of the warm room, Bucky decides on a pair of soft black pants and a grey Henley.

He gets cold easily directly after thawing.

When he pulls back the curtain, Steve’s expression is a little less pinched.

“Here,” Steve slides a pair of house shoes to Bucky.

Slipping them onto his feet, he shrugs his left shoulder. The sleeve of his shirt swings a little. “Hey, Rogers. Help a fella out?”

Steve walks over to fold the sleeve over itself until it’s snug against Bucky’s shoulder and pins it, pinching the fabric away from Bucky’s skin.

Bucky runs his fingers through his hair. It’s still damp, but it isn’t so tangled that he really needs to brush it.

“So,” he says. “When are we gonna start?”

“Start?” Steve cocks his head a little.

“Getting Hydra’s programming out of my head.”

Steve glances at Sam and T’Challa, then looks at his shoes guiltily.

Bucky sighs. “Steve, we talked about this. I’m not safe to be around if people can still get their hands on me. I could hurt people—I could hurt _you_.”

With every word, Steve seems to shrink.

“I—I just wanted to—”

“This isn’t about what you _want_ , Steve. This is about—”

“Perhaps,” T’Challa interrupts, “it would be best if Sam were to explain this to you. Captain, if you would come with me, I have something I need to show you.”

Steve nods and follows him out of the room without even sparing a glance for Bucky.

Bucky shakes his head when the door closes behind him. “Wilson—”

“It wasn’t his idea.”

“What, you thought it would be a good idea to give me another chance to try and kill him?”

Sam’s features twist into something that may have been a glare before he schools them back to something resembling neutral. “Of course not. But he’s had a pretty terrible year, even considering what the rest of his life has looked like. T’Challa and I decided it was probably safe to give him one good day.”

Bucky feels a weight in his chest. “Did something happen?” he asks.

“Yeah, he nearly got all of his friends arrested or killed and the girl he wanted to married died of old age and he got his best friend back from the dead only to have you freeze yourself for his protection.”

Stopping a glare of his own, Bucky says, “Sam, you know I didn’t have any other choice.”

“I do know that, but it’s a lot, even for someone like Steve.”

“What do you mean, ‘give him one good day’?”

Sam sighs. “I hadn’t even thought of it. You don’t know what day it is today, do you?”

There’s a little calendar on the wall of the lab and Bucky can see the date under the picture of a woman dancing.

July 4th.

“Oh.”

“He didn’t want to wake you, you know. He knew you’d worry about hurting him.”

Steve _would_ think that.

“You wanna go see him?” Sam asks.

Bucky nods.

Sam leads the way out the door. Bucky had more or less figured out the arrangement of the building before they froze him, but he’d rather concentrate on his thoughts than getting around.

“It’s kind of a shame we didn’t wake you up yesterday,” Sam says as they walk down a hallway. “You could’ve given us pointers on the food.”

“These days, he’ll eat anything.”

“We decided on a roast.”

Bucky halts in his tracks. “A roast?”

Stopping a few paces ahead, Sam raises a brow. “Is that a problem?”

He can’t help rubbing his hand on his forehead. “Wilson, it’s Monday today. Roasts are for _Sundays_.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You are such an old man.”

“Steve’s gonna be scandalized.”

“You’re _both_ old men.”

In the end, Steve isn’t scandalized, but he does get misty-eyed when Natasha carries it into the little dining room where they’ve all gathered.

Apparently, she showed up as a surprise for Steve, and was what T’Challa had “needed to show him” earlier.

Dinner is a quiet but enjoyable affair. Bucky spends most of it listening while everyone else chatters about whatever they’ve been up to since the Accords.

Wanda, who came with Sam to live in Wakanda after Steve broke them out of prison, has spent most of her time training and Steve beams as she updates Natasha on her progress.

He could see how much Steve loved the two of them, how he thought of them like the sisters he’d never had. It’s comforting to know that Steve made friends while he thought Bucky was gone, and even more comforting to see how much they care about him in return.

When everyone has finished eating, Steve and Bucky clear away the dishes like they did as children, although Steve totes all the dishes while Bucky carries a fistful of silverware.

Alone in the kitchen, Bucky grabs Steve’s wrist. Steve freezes, as if he couldn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” he says quietly, hoping he’s being quiet enough that the voices from the other room will drown him out. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay—”

“It’s not. I should’ve thought about your feelings.” Bucky pulls Steve closer so he can hug him.

Steve buries his face in Bucky’s neck. “I miss you,” he whispers, hoarse.

“I know.”

They hold each other for a moment. At first Steve’s breath is quick with suppressed tears, then it deepens as he calms himself down. When it’s even again, Bucky pats his back.

“C’mon, they’re gonna wonder what happened to us.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t move for a moment. Bucky can understand, since he’s just as reluctant to let go.

The moment is broken when Steve looks up. “Do you hear anything?”

“No.”

“Oh, god,” Steve says, “What are they doing in there?”

Bucky assumes the others are planning some kind of prank, and is shocked to find them huddled around a cake, each of them working to light the pile of candles that stick out of it. They’re nearly done when Steve and Bucky walk in.

Bucky finds out why it was so quiet when Wanda breathes a little too close to the cake and a candle goes out.

Sam finishes his corner of the cake first. He steps away slowly and grins, “Happy birthday, Steve!”

The others step back and Steve and Bucky get a better look at the cake. It’s pretty simple, and the only adornment on the white icing—other than the multitude of candles—are the blue and red icing piped at the corners of the cake.

“You better blow them out soon, Steve,” Natasha says.

Steve looks over at Bucky. “You wanna blow ‘em out with me?”

“You don’t have asthma anymore, pal.”

“No… I just… I know you’ve missed a lot of birthdays.”

That’s true. The last time Bucky’s birthday was, well, a _birthday_ , the Howlies were camped out in the rain and his “cake” was a bar of chocolate with a match held up next to it.

Bucky smiles. “Okay.”

“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Wanda says.

His mind flounders for a second. He’s lived so long thinking only of the immediate future that something so optimistically hopeful as a wish feels alien.

They start in the center of the cake and it’s not too hard for their enhanced lungs to blow out the candles in a single breath.

Steve is placed in charge of cutting. The first corner piece is given to Bucky, who remembers being told throughout childhood that the first slice of cake was the luckiest.

While pieces of cake are handed out, Natasha pulls a tablet out of her bag.

“So,” she says, “do you want your present?”

“I’ve already got my present,” Steve replies earnestly, gesturing at everyone gathered at the table.

She holds the tablet out to him. “I got this message a week ago.”

Taking it, Steve taps at the screen to turn it on.

Bucky looks over and sees Tony Stark’s face staring out at them, his mouth open.

When Steve presses the little ‘play’ button, Tony starts talking.

_“_ — _Checked the Stark Industries employee roster and found Natalie Rushman was still on the list, so I hope my gut’s right and you still get emails on this thing._

_“Vision and I have been searching for possible Hydra bases—abandoned ones, nothing we need help with—and we found one in Maine with—”_

He takes a breath and drags a hand through his hair.

_“Well, we think Barnes might’ve been kept there, judging by the facilities. There were files. Physical copies, nothing that would’ve been in your info dump. Most of it was in Russian and German, but Vision speaks pretty much every language, and he said it was about how they—how they conditioned him—Barnes._

_“I know you probably don’t trust me—and you have every right not to—but I think this might help him.”_

Stark fidgets with something off-screen and Bucky can hear the distinctive bell sound of Steve’s shield.

_“I’m hoping you can get this to them._

_“If you do, tell Steve I—I shouldn’t’ve—”_

He pauses.

_“I was in a bad place. I know that’s no excuse for what I did, he’d gone through a lot too, with Barnes and Aunt Peg._

_“I know it wasn’t Barnes’s fault. I… I know it wasn’t his choice._

_“So, if you could just tell Steve—and Barnes too—that I’m sorry. I hope this helps. It’s… It’s really quiet around the Tower these days. I could—If any of you want to come back, I won’t let anyone—You’ll be safe._

_“I was thinking maybe… Maybe we could get the team back together some day. Barton finally answered one of my calls, but I don’t know where Thor and Bruce are._

_“Anyway, if you could give this to them, I’d appreciate it. Let me know if you need anything. See you.”_

The recording ends and the tablet displays a folder with several files in it alongside the video.

Steve stares at the tablet for a long moment.

“I’ve already read through the files,” she says. “It’s likely they have the information we need to destroy Hydra’s programming.”

Bucky has to force himself to breathe, to listen, to not grab the tablet out of Steve’s hands and read the files for himself.

“It won’t be easy, but with Wanda, I think we can do it.”

One of Steve’s hands finds Bucky’s. “How long will it take to get everything ready?” he asks.

“We can probably start tomorrow,” Natasha answers, smiling.

Bucky isn’t sure he can imagine it—being free of Hydra’s control _tomorrow_.

Steve looks just as stunned, his eyes are wide as he stares at their clasped hands.

“Well, it’s good we’re not doing it right now,” Sam says in an obvious attempt to ease some of the tension. “Wanda wouldn’t let me taste the cake when she was icing it and I’m not waiting any longer to try it.” He takes a bite and moans, “Oh, sho good,” with his mouth full.

That gets Steve to smile and take a bite of his own piece. “Wanda, this is great!” he says.

“I found a recipe from the 1940s,” she says. “Although the chocolate chips were Sam’s idea.”

It is a really good cake. Bucky eats three pieces and smashes a fourth into Steve’s face.

 

* * *

 

 

“What did you wish for?” Steve asks as they walk to his quarters. There’s still some frosting clinging to his hair.

“Hmm?” Bucky replies. His mind still hasn’t wrapped itself around the thought that he doesn’t have to go back to cryo, that he could be free from Hydra within twenty-four hours.

“When we were blowing out the candles. What did you wish for?”

“Oh. I wished that your wish would come true.”

Steve makes a face as he opens the door to his room. “That’s not very inventive.”

“Hey, it’s your birthday, pal. What if my wish came true and yours didn’t?” He takes a seat on Steve’s sofa.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my wish was?”

“It’s bad luck to tell people your wish.”

Steve grins. “Not if it’s already come true.”

Bucky cocks his head.

Sitting, Steve rests his arm across the back of his sofa, his fingers brush Bucky’s shoulder.

“I wished that I wouldn’t have to let go of you again.”

As he settles into Steve’s side, Bucky says, “I guess someone up there heard you.”

“Or Tony did, at least.”

Bucky looks over into Steve’s blue eyes.

“Happy birthday, Steve,” he says, and leans in for a kiss.


End file.
